


The Colder the Night, the Warmer Your Hands Hold

by QuackTracks



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Fluff, No Angst, No Drama, just late, just some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuackTracks/pseuds/QuackTracks
Summary: Prompt: "I'm trying to drown my yearly sorrows at this bar. Stop making me laugh."





	The Colder the Night, the Warmer Your Hands Hold

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fun, short fic that I wrote. Hope you enjoy.

Ava’s feet ached from her toes, through her arches, and deep into her heels. She’d been on her feet for hours, tracking down a lawyer that had been siphoning money off of already poor clients and getting them stuck in prison with false evidence. 

There was nothing like a little moral vacuum to bring about her ‘Christmas spirit.’ 

The bartender at her favorite little pub, Waverider, had been shooting her sympathetic looks from the moment she slouched in and slotted herself on the barstool. 

It wasn’t like the place was lacking in other people to sympathize with, but apparently she just looked more pathetic than the college kids humping each other on pool tables. 

That wasn’t necessarily a fair representation of the pub’s normal clientele, but those people were either with their families for the holidays or they were sitting with friends in booths that were scattered around the open, wooden space; decidedly enjoying themselves and not looking sad.

Ava squeezed the bridge of her nose and worked her way up, trying to ease away the headache that was already digging deep roots. She let out a tired whimper and took a deep breath, throwing back the vodka-Red Bull that she would be sticking to all night.

She set it lightly back down on the dark, chipped bar top and slid it toward the bartender as raucous laughter echoed behind her. 

There seemed to be a handful of friends taking up the largest, wraparound booth at the far corner, and they’d been having a glorious time since before she even reached her stool. 

There was a lot of back and forth, alternating between argumentative and agreeable every few minutes, and Ava had tuned it out as best she could. 

They seemed exceptionally happy to be at a bar on Christmas Eve. 

Ava scoffed, grasping greedily at the glass pushed in front of her downturned face just as two people leaned against the bar to her right. 

They were in the middle of a conversation, but Ava wasn’t particularly interested in what anyone had to say. Really, she wasn’t. But it’s impossible to ignore what’s happening right next to you.

“Oh, Z, have you heard of that Swedish lore about the mänsklig stjäl?”

She only began listening because she needed somebody to insult, and obviously this person didn’t know how to speak Swedish, because what she’d said translated to nothing that made sense.

The other woman at the bar seemed less than interested as she waved the bartender over.

“No, please tell me more.”

Ava peered out of the corner of her eye to see two rather strikingly attractive women, both in tight jeans and leather jackets. The blonde one was facing her in a way, her body angled toward her friend. 

“So the legend goes, the mänsklig stjäl is the monstrous ghost of a man who was snubbed on Christmas Eve. He was in such a rage when he left the bar, that he waited outside for the guy that had snubbed him and pushed them both off of a bridge.”

Ava had taken years of studying different languages and cultures, especially ones with gruesome lores. Not only was this one surprisingly gay, it did not exist to her knowledge. 

The blonde’s companion didn’t sound any more interested in her next response, and it came out as deadpan as her first. 

“Oh, no, tell me more.”

The blonde didn’t seem deterred. 

“So basically, this guy’s ghost haunts bars similar to the one he was snubbed in. And he targets singles that turn down the very kind and not-creepy advances a lovely person might bestow on them.”

Ava’s face was scrunching up with each word, utterly convinced the woman beside her was either an idiot or—

She felt a tap on her arm and looked over, finding slightly glazed blue eyes smiling at her. 

“Hi, I’m Sara.”

It clicked into place after a few moments of awkward silence, and Ava’s lips curled into an unbelieving and slightly flabbergasted smirk. 

“That was commitment.”

Sara dropped beside her, her friend already disappearing back to their table. 

Sara leaned her elbow on the bar, her head on her hand, and she shot Ava a particularly disarming smile. 

“It was scrapped together last minute, but I honestly didn’t expect to see somebody so stunning sitting alone at a bar tonight, and I’m just past buzzed enough that I won’t cringe at myself until tomorrow.”

Ava sipped at her drink, pulling away her amusement to try and play at being unamused. 

“So your drunk brain thought that making up a story that could be construed as borderline threatening was the best next step?”

Sara’s face scrunched up in confusion, but the understanding dawned on her face rather quickly, and she leaned back in surrender. 

“I… was not— hey, that’s… okay, so I didn’t think that through.” She gave Ava a sheepish look, cheeks flushed as she tried to regain her composure. “Can I try again?”

Ava should say no. She was not interested in waking up on Christmas Day in some stranger’s bed. But there was no harm in a little distraction while she was out moping. 

“Lay it on me.”

Sara flashed a stomach-flipping grin and sat up straight, her hand reaching forward and her eyes flashing with charm that was heavily diluted by alcohol. 

“Hello, my name is Sara, you are exceptionally beautiful, can I please buy you a drink?”

Ava roller her eyes, but she carefully slotted her hand against Sara’s, whose was warm and firm; surprisingly so. 

“My name is Ava. And yes, if you’re feeling charitable.”

Sara motioned toward the bartender and seemed to telepathically order whatever it is he started making. Then her eyes were back on Ava, and Ava found it a little difficult to look away. 

“See, but charity implies that I am receiving nothing in return for my offer. But your presence is return enough.”

It was bad. Honestly, Ava had had men try better pick up lines, but this was endearingly cute, and she huffed out a regrettably amused laugh. 

“I can’t tell if you’re that drunk or just horrifically bad at flirting.” 

Sara grinned proudly. 

“I am both, thank you.”

Ava rolled her eyes. 

“I’m not sure either one was a compliment.”

Sara shrugged. 

“My life coach says ‘life is what you make it.’”

“Do you have a life coach?”

Sara pursed her lips for a moment and then her smug smile broke through and she gave Ava a shit-eating look. 

“No. But it has been suggested to me on many occasions by people that mean only the best.”

Ava chuckled again, her foul mood wafting away to be replaced with genuine amusement. She shook her head. 

“I’m trying to drown my yearly sorrows at this bar, stop making me laugh.”

Sara’s smile only widened, and she took the offered beer from the bartender and chugged half the bottle before standing. 

Ava felt a drop in her chest at the thought that their strange interaction was over, but she buried it under her own haze of vodka. 

A hand held toward her brought her back. Sara wiggled her fingers, silently requesting to be held.

“Darts or pool? I’m good at both.”

Ava stared at the woman a moment, questioning her own sanity, and then she sighed and took Sara’s hand. 

“Pool. You’re bad at flirting and yet not humble in the least. Tell me how those things mix.”

Sara dragged her toward the group of college kids and promptly set her quarters on the table to signal her desire to play next. Luckily, it didn’t seem like the current games would be lasting much longer with the way the players were _still_ humping each other. 

Sara pulled them to a booth a few feet away and slid in, but she didn’t try to force Ava next to her. Instead, she let her go as she sat, giving Ava the choice as she said,

“Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t look all that interested in some smooth-talking jackass coming up to you and running lines. And so maybe, my drunk brain, instead of just being not a jackass, decided that fabricating a creepy story would be more successful.”

Ava was going to regret this tomorrow. She just knew it. And she slid onto Sara’s side anyway, receiving a dangerously pleased little smirk from Sara. 

Ava felt a little warm, a little buzzed, and she didn’t move away even as Sara inched a bit closer under the guise of wanting to hear her better.

“That was a poorly calculated risk.”

Sara played with the condensation that had built from her glass and settled on the table, but her eyes were so blue and so focused on Ava that she almost had to look away. Sara chuckled. 

“It doesn’t seem so poorly calculated now.”

Ava rolled her eyes, turning her head away to get a breather from the tension and the attraction. She tried to turn the conversation to something safer.

“So, what do you do?”

Sara took the change easily and returned the distance between them. 

“A little bit of everything.”

Ava shook her head, narrowing her eyes. 

“That answer is a surefire way to make me end this conversation.”

Sara laughed, holding up a hand in surrender. 

“Damn, I didn’t know you wanted to get to know me so badly.” Sara nudged her, ensuring that Ava knew she was kidding. “I do dabble in various things, but I guess I can name them for you if that would make you feel better.”

“As long as you’re not a criminal.”

Sara chuckled. 

“Not into bad girls?”

Ava leaned into the booth and took a sip of her drink. She gave Sara an obvious once-over. 

“I’m legally not allowed to be.”

Sara’s brows rose at that, but she nodded. 

“You should elaborate on that in a moment. But actually, I work as a private investigator mainly.”

Ava felt a collision of emotions then, because PI’s normally got in her way, but it wasn’t a turnoff that Sara was in that line of work. She hummed. 

“And the other things you dabble in?”

“Well, I own a few businesses with my partners; this pub being one of them.”

Ava almost spit out her drink.

“You own Waverider?”

Sara nodded, a somewhat serious tilt to her brows. 

“Yeah. I inherited a lot of money from-- well, let’s just say I inherited it. So I opened the businesses I could stomach owning and running. Legends Private Investigators, Waverider, and a few others that my friends and I handle.” Sara shrugged. “What about you?”

Ava wasn’t sure how to answer, knowing that her job often put women off because of the danger it held or the connotations it carried. But lying was something she couldn’t stomach much of, and it was Christmas Eve. It seemed somehow worse because of it. 

“I work for the FBI.”

Sara’s eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t seem all that surprised. 

“Do you wear suits?”

Ava chuckled, pleased at how well her career was taken. 

“I do.”

Sara whistled then, smirking. 

“I feel obligated to tell you that that is hot.”

Ava laughed; she seemed to be doing that a lot tonight.

“You were obligated? What kind of position does one have to be in that they’re required to say such things?”

Sara crossed her hands on the table professionally, giving off a faux-arrogant look. 

“It is known that I am never wrong when it comes to the attractiveness of women. I have a standard to uphold.” She released her pose. “Although women do make it incredibly easy considering that they’re all quite beautiful.”

As she finished talking, the pool table they’d reserved opened up, and Sara nodded toward it with a brow raised. 

“Ready to be impressed?”

Ava slid from the booth, her eyes rolling.

“You’re full of shit.”

Ava picked up two pool cues, one normal-sized and one for kids. She handed the small one to Sara, who proceeded to look very affronted. 

“Excuse you.”

Ava grinned.

“I’m sorry, am I in your way?”

Sara pulled the kid’s cue out of her hand, making sure to drag her knuckles along Ava’s.

“Fine. I’ll beat you with this.” Sara put her quarters in and began racking the balls, deftly placing them against the felt. She slid it forward and then back before gently lifting the triangle. “You want to break?”

Ava shook her head. 

“You go for it. I’m sure you’ll get a good amount of power from such a small stick.”

Sara glowered playfully. 

“You’re lucky I’m not a guy, otherwise I’d be offended.”

Ava grimaced. 

“If you were a guy, we wouldn’t be here.”

Sara chuckled. 

“Good to know.” She walked around the table and bent over, wiggling her ass out in an obvious manner. She looked up at Ava. “I have a suggestion.”

Ava leaned against the pool table, warm and buzzy from the company and her drinks. 

“What might that be?”

“It’s a game of questions. Each ball you pocket, you get to ask a question of the other person. No limits. No backing out. You have to answer.” She rose a challenging eyebrow. “You in?”

Bad idea. Worst idea. Terrible, no-good idea.

“I’m in.” 

Sara slammed the cue ball forward and it clattered into the left edge, sending the balls across the table; two landing in differing pockets. 

Ava pointed quickly. 

“You made a stripe and a solid. You get one question and I get the other.”

Sara pursed her lips thoughtfully, then nodded. 

“Fair enough. I’ll go stripes. Now, Ava, tell me why you’re out here tonight rather than, I don’t know, elsewhere.”

See. Terrible idea. Idiotic. Fuck.

“I don’t talk to my family and I haven’t had a girlfriend in over a year.”

Sara’s interest seemed piqued, but she nodded for Ava to ask hers. Ava was quick to jump on a topic change. 

“If you own this bar, why have I never seen you before?”

Sara hummed thoughtfully. 

“Probably because I only ever come when it’s closed and I need to drown myself in top-shelf whiskey. Amaya gets angry when I do that.” She grinned. “ But generally, I’m working with Zari and Mick. Legends has gathered interest, and we generally do well by word of mouth. So we’re pretty busy.”

Sara leaned down and effortlessly pocketed another stripe. She shot Ava a look.

“Why haven’t you had a girlfriend in over a year?”

Ava rolled her eyes. Sara was going to pry the end of their date out of her. Nobody was ever happy with the answers she had to these questions. 

“Because my job scares people. And because I don’t have time for it. It’s like people start dating me and think I’m going to up and quit my job for them. They find out rather quickly that nothing matters more than my job.”

Sara nodded thoughtfully. 

“Dedication is hot.”

Ava snorted then, exceptionally unattractive. But she was constantly being surprised by Sara’s responses.

The next shot, Sara missed, and she graciously stepped aside so that Ava could go. She knocked a solid in. 

“So do you generally spend Christmas Eve trying to pick up women in bars?”

Sara shook her head. 

“This is surprisingly a first for me.”

Ava frowned.

“Why do you say that?”

Sara shook her head. 

“Ah ah, no more questions until you make another shot.”

Ava swiftly pocketed another solid and gave Sara a look. 

Sara pouted for a moment then sighed.

“In the tune of being honest. . . I have embarked upon some questionable flirtatious adventures at inopportune times.”

Ava missed her next shot. 

The game continued until both of them were down to two solids and one stripe, plus the eight-ball. Sara pocketed a striped ball and her eyes flickered to Ava’s, the blues burning with something heated. 

“What are the odds that you, Ava, would go home with somebody on Christmas Eve?”

It was almost. . . disappointing. She was enjoying Sara’s company immensely, far more than she had any right to. And she had begun to hope that this might be . . . something else. She played it off, smirking. 

“It depends on the person.”

Sara huffed. 

“Cheap answer.”

Sara lined up her shot, pointing for the far corner. Easy sink. She’s won the game. 

Ava watched her smile turn sincere, and her cheeks tinged a bit red. 

“What are the odds that you, Ava, would like to go on a date with me?”

Ava smiled back, because how could she not. Sara was somehow really bad and really good at flirting, and she was apparently a sucker for it. Shaking her head, she sighed. 

“Is this question and the last mutually exclusive?”

Sara eyes flashed. 

“They don’t have to be.”

Ava stuffed her hands in her pockets and nodded toward the door. 

“Then I’d say the odds are quite high for both.”


End file.
